


Procurement

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A problem customer walks in.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Procurement

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

After eight o’clock p.m., foot traffic slows down considerably, and the ST300’s human coworkers all finish out their shifts, leaving her alone in the store. It would be worrisome, given how expensive the wares are in their CyberLife outlet, except that many of their androids are capable of defending themselves from being stolen. The ST300 doesn’t stroll around the floor like many of the human consultants, but simply hovers behind the desk, waiting for any late customers that might have questions or come ready to make a purchase. She looks up and logs every person that comes through the doors, including the scruffy Caucasian male that shows up at eight fourteen. She could scan his face and check his record, but CyberLife employees employ discretion until an order’s placed. He takes a brisk walk around the floor, quickly scrutinizing and dismissing every android on display.

Then he storms up to the desk and slaps his phone down on the counter, sliding it across to her. It’s open to a picture of a brown-haired Caucasian android with brown eyes and a labeled grey jacket. The customer grunts, “I want this one.”

The ST300 scans the picture, checking it against their database, and reports, “Unfortunately, we don’t have that particular model in stock. Would you like to order it in?”

As they almost always do, the customer warily asks, “Will I have to pay extra for that?”

She nods but engages her ‘friendly smile’ protocol. “Our ordering fee is an addition four hundred and ninety-nine dollars, but we promise a swift and reliable delivery within thirty days.”

The customer _glares_ at her. She registers the signs of discontent but remains calm. He hasn’t yet crossed the threshold where she’ll need to call in the authorities. After a long moment, he grumbles, “Fine. Do it.”

The ST300 glances down at the photo again. She registers the number on its jacket—RK800—and rescans the database, now for all available models rather than just those regularly delivered to their store. After a brief pause, she informs the customer, “I apologize, but we don’t seem to have that type in our catalogue. It must be a prototype. But I’m sure we can find you something similar.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” the customer growls, setting off more signals in her synthetic brain. He’s not happy and needs to be soothed. “I don’t _want_ something similar, I want this one!”

She repeats, “We don’t have this one, Sir, but I’m sure we can find a suitable replacement. What functionality should it have?”

“I don’t give a damn what its functions are—I want it to have this stupid face and... I dunno. Be annoying.”

None of their models are equipped with a ‘be annoying’ feature. She tries, “What would you like it for?”

The customer bluntly tells her, “I wanna jerk off on its face.”

The ST300 blinks. She processes the crude language into a reasonable request. “We carry several pleasure androids—”

“I don’t want a damn _pleasure android_ , I want a plastic prick that looks like this asshole except gets me coffee instead of Anderson. And lets me fuck it.”

The ST300 processes further, circuits working overtime to try and reach a suitable compromise between their abilities and the customer’s wants. She attempts, “Any model will get you coffee and refuse coffee to whoever you wish. You may have sexual intercourse with any android you purchase. We can change the pigment of any android’s skin and the colour of their hair, brush it accordingly, and add moles in strategic locations—”

“Did you not fucking hear me? I don’t want a half-baked look-a-like, I want a _Connor_.”

“Any model you choose will answer to ‘Connor.’”

The customer looks ready to punch her. The ST300 halfway engages emergency protocol, ready to call the authorities at any given second. Then the customer sucks in a deep breath, pulls something out of his pocket, and slaps it onto the desk next to his phone. “Look, you plastic piece of shit, I’m a cop, okay? I want top priority on this. The _minute_ the prototype in this picture goes on the open market, you call Detective Gavin Reed at my home address and make sure I get the first one. Got it?”

Quickly logging away the prototype’s model number, facial structure, and the detective’s name and correlating information in CyberLife’s vast database, the ST300 nods. “Yes, Sir. Your order has been placed.” The detective nods. He doesn’t seem to realize how incredibly unlikely it is that that exact prototype will be put into mass commercial production without any alterations. She doesn’t tell him. 

He lingers a moment anyway, as though glaring at her will summon the android he wants to jerk off on. Then he finally collects his badge and phone and mutters a begrudging, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

He glares harder.

She offers: “Would you like a cup of coffee as a consolation for your wait? CyberLife values all of its customers and the local police force.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

The ST300 isn’t sure if that’s a request, but it doesn’t matter, because Detective Gavin Reed is already storming out, taking his absurd desires with him.


End file.
